


Skymarshal John Egbert: Marry the Grand Mediator

by jottingprosaist (jane_potter)



Series: The One Where John and Karkat Get Arranged-Married (and Discover Xeno Kinks They Never Knew They Had) [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternate Universe - Politics, Deepthroating, M/M, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_potter/pseuds/jottingprosaist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Egbert, get your furry ass up.”</p><p>Karkat is squirming away from the lips you left pressed absently to his neck, disentangling himself from your arms. No, stop, this is the worst thing.</p><p>You grab clumsily at him, fingers sliding over his weirdly hard grey flesh, before your brain kicks in to say <i>NOPE no pawing at the skittish alien husbando</i>. Withdrawing to a more careful distance, you push up on one elbow and squint up at him worriedly. “Everything okay?”</p><p>Then you sit bolt upright. “Holy crap, your dick,” you blurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skymarshal John Egbert: Marry the Grand Mediator

**Author's Note:**

> Everybody say thank you to autoeuphorics for reminding me to finish this. :)

“Egbert, get your furry ass up.”

Karkat is squirming away from the lips you left pressed absently to his neck, disentangling himself from your arms. No, stop, this is the worst thing.

You grab clumsily at him, fingers sliding over his weirdly hard grey flesh, before your brain kicks in to say _NOPE no pawing at the skittish alien husbando_. Withdrawing to a more careful distance, you push up on one elbow and squint up at him worriedly. “Everything okay?”

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Karkat scoffs at you: _kkkh_ in parts of his throat that you haven’t got. “Come _on_. It’s cold in here.”

It _is_ a bit chilly without post-coital snuggles. But if Karkat doesn’t want to cuddle, but also doesn’t want to get away from you…

Before you figure it out, something changes in his expression, impatient expectancy (you know that one from hours watching him at the negotiation table) turning to… something else. Doubt? Maybe? ( _Aliens_. They’re hard and you stand by that statement.)

“Fine,” Karkat grouses, turning away slightly from you slightly. He sounds perpetually tetchy with his gravel-coated voicebox, but this time you think it might be real grouchiness. “I’ll just go and…”

As he shifts off the bed to leave, you notice his hand twitch toward—oh. _Oh_. Red alert! Literally: there’s red oozing slowly across the teeny bit of pudge on his lower belly, red that you thought had all been cleaned up from the clumsy swipe of towel Karkat had fumbled between his legs while you two were still trading half-hearted kisses earlier. But this isn’t from then; it’s new, and you know that because the finger’s length of wet scarlet tendril tentatively peeking out from the slit in his pudge is also new.

You sit bolt upright. “Holy crap, your dick,” you blurt. “Bulge, whatever. Karkat. I thought you said your bone bulge was the bony pelvis bit?”

He glares. “Yeah, and I thought that once upon a time you told me that the human girl version of your junk is a vagina, but surprise surprise, it’s actually a vulva and everybody just uses the same word for a whole bunch of completely different body parts.”

He’s got a point, except for the part where you do not really care at all, right now. You’re more fascinated by the way Karkat is pinking up, not in his cheeks but in the ears and the stripe of thin skin on either side of his chitin-armoured trachea. You are also fascinated by that glistening red tendril. As you stare, it flexes, its delicate diamond tip curling under like it’s _shy_.

(How did you never see this in the porn. Thank _god_ you never saw this in the porn, because the flush of astonishment and fascination you feel at the discovery of that little scarlet tentacle is so good and you’re happy you get to see it for the first time on Karkat.)

“ _John_ ,” Karkat says, and maybe it’s just the fact that he finally, _finally_ used your name, but he sounds vulnerable. And frustrated, of course. “Are you coming or not?”

You reach out and grab the hand he’s holding out, beaming as you scramble out of bed. Asking, “Where are we going?” is an afterthought.

Karkat makes another one of those raspy noises, the untranslatable ones that you’re pretty sure aren’t words, that you can’t even intuit accurate emotions from even though you _know_ they’ve got to mean something. “The shower. You stink, you sweaty ape.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Rude!”

You don’t mean it because you’re pretty sure _he_ didn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean half the things he says! It’s kind of funny—or at least, it has been ever since you figured out that your new spouse wasn’t _serious_ about all the awful things he said about you and the house and your species and your planet. Before then, it was nerve-wracking and horrible and left you lying awake at night in your empty bed wondering how badly you were going to fuck up this political marriage and also every single diplomatic tie between Skaia and the only other known sentient species in the universe.

You can’t help but try to keep looking at Karkat’s little bulge as he leads you to the bathroom. He has to pull you sideways to keep you from running into the door frame. Scowling (also a troll expression you’re familiar with), Karkat chitters something unintelligible at you. Or about you, maybe.

You roll your eyes and put your hands on Karkat’s love handles, trying to guide him backward into the shower before he goes off on you. The tile is shockingly cold against your bare feet. “Come ooooonnnn,” you complain, “it’s freezing.”

He goes, grumbling more for show than effect, you think. You think that because he goes pretty damn fast, and because both of his hands are on your shoulders, tugging you right along with him, digging just a _little_ too hard with his claws. It makes your heart trip, that subtle sign that Karkat really does want this, want you. (Thank god he wants this. You could go without, were prepared to go without—forever, if you had to—but then he was propositioning you and you were touching him and you are just really, _really_ glad that it was touching he actually wanted.)

The shower is plenty big enough for both of you plus shenanigans, even if you’re six and a half feet tall and Karkat, though only five-five, is built like a brick shithouse. Turns out there _are_ perks to massively important political marriages between massively important political figures and sort-of important Skaian Marshals.

Karkat growls and pulls you closer. He's now more careful in his desire, with the pads of his fingers pressing in harder than his claws. Shivering, you squeeze his hips back and duck all the way down to kiss him.

He inhales sharply through his nose, freezing for a moment before he… it’s almost like he has to _remember_ how to kiss you back. Every time Karkat kisses you first it takes him a couple seconds to ease back the throttle from full-on smashy fangs, and every time you initiate, he hesitates before responding in kind. Now, rumbling faintly in his throat, he kissbites you gently, catching your lips and tongue over and over again between his pointy teeth. For someone who was so concerned about you biting him, he does an awful lot of it himself!

…Huh. Maybe that’s _why_ he was so concerned. Is that like a thing with trolls, that if they get something between their teeth they instinctively bite? Do they not have a sucking reflex?

You don’t pay attention to Karkat shifting over to one side until suddenly a hot spray of water hits your back and head. You yelp in surprise and pain, pulling back.

“Fuck, sorry,” Karkat says, sweeping his hand over the control panel again. The water cools just a bit, from Karkat’s set temperature of _hot like burning_ to your own _hot but not ouchies_ setting.

“S’okay,” you reassure him, grinning breathlessly, because now Karkat has gone from naked and muscular to naked and muscular and _slippery_. The water slicks down his wild forelock, making it easy for you to run your hands over his bristly hair and cup his skull to hold him still for another kiss. Holy crap, the water does something to his skin—or rather his skin does something alien and strange when wet—that makes your palms glide down his neck and back and butt like they’ve been soaped, super slick and frictionless.

Guh, Karkat butt. Butt of Karkat. It’s thick and square, muscular from the million alien calisthenics you’ve glimpsed him doing—not that you were spying, but you two’ve been sharing a house for five months!—with a soft padding of chub that makes you just want to _squeeze_.

You squeeze. It’s practically impossible not to. Karkat whistle-gasps and bites your lip harder than normal.

“Egbert—”

“John,” you insist, because he can’t go back to surname terms now that you’ve finally heard him use your real name. 

Beads of water run over his curled black lip, get swept away by a flick of grey-pink tongue. “You were so fucking fascinated by my bulge earlier,” he rasps. “You wanna touch it now or not?”

“Uh,” you say, taken aback even though you _knew_ this was coming. “I. Yes, fuck, obviously.”

Despite the fact that you had your face buried cheeks to chin in his pussy fifteen minutes ago, it’s a whole new ball game to touch his dick. (Christ—nook, bulge. Get it straight, John.) You hesitate to just reach out and _grab_ it—but Karkat hesitates to make you grab it, too, his hand hovering over yours without touching. There you are, two losers with their hands wavering in midair and no actual dick-touching going on. That’s what gets you through this, honestly: the fact that the two of you aren’t just momentarily unsure and freaked out, but unsure and freaked out _together_. It’s so very far from the worst thing that could happen. It’s okay.

Tentatively, you extend one finger and touch his bulge like you’re greeting it. The diamond-flanged tip of it squirms and curls around your finger in a hand shake, and okay, it is _cute_. That’s not an adjective you normally like to apply to other guys’ junk, but it’s true!

“Shit,” Karkat whispers. A darting glance up from his bulge shows that he’s gone even redder, chewing his lip like he doesn’t care if he hurts himself, and he’s scraping the claws of his other hand across the wall tiles behind him.

He’s nervous, you remember. “Oh, wow,” you say, to fill the space, to let him know everything’s fine. “Wow. Is this okay?”

“Fuck you, is _one_ finger okay? Is that all I get, one little fucking finger?”

That makes you grin down at him. With more confidence, you extend the rest of your fingers and curl them loosely around his bulge. It’s so short that the span of your fingers barely fits along its length. No _wonder_ he was freaking out about how big your (perfectly normal okay maybe a little thicker than average) cock was.

You have just time to think that thought when Karkat’s bulge writhes in reaction to your touch and _grows_. Another full two inches of slick tentacle push out of the little slit on his lower belly, which you had taken for an oddly placed belly button sort of deal when you glimpsed it earlier, closed and tight like his nook had been. Guess they both open up!

“Holy crap, Karkat, how much more do you have?” You are surprised and fascinated and turned on in the weirdest way. Like, the boner you’re getting is tangibly _not your usual boner_. Your brain’s CHECK KINK light is flashing.

Your husband has a tentacle cock and it just keeps getting longer in your hand, squirming and twisting as it pushes slickly out of the spreading slit. After the first five inches there are ribs on the underside of it, smooth curved ribs beneath the slick skin that feel flexible-stiff like cartilage when they rimple over your fingers. Karkat’s slit stretches momentarily wider around the little knot of each rib as they emerge one by one, and he sighs each time, a shaky and increasingly wound-up noise. And it just. It just keeps. Growing.

Karkat’s bulge is wrapped twice around your hand by the time it stops lengthening. You’d be stunned still if it weren’t for the way his bulge twists and flexes against your hand, forcing you to curl your fingers and squeeze back automatically. Not human. So not human. It doesn’t feel like your cock at all, but more like flexing muscle, hard and soft alternately. Which, you suppose, it probably is.

“Explain again how my dick is the massive one here?” you say, a little weakly.

Karkat cracks open one eye. (Oh no, you interrupted his shallow-breathing bliss.) “I have a perfectly normal bulge, thank you very much. Unlike that nook-reaming battering ram you keep in your lower leg garments.”

“Yours is like three times as long as mine!”

“Yours is as thick as my fucking _wrist_ ,” he retorts, brandishing one demonstratively.

You snort. “I wish.” His incredulous grimace makes you laugh. “Honestly, Karkat, my dick is pretty average! Keep saying nice things about it, though, I like that part. I’ve never been told I was too big! Actually once I got told—”

“Oh my fucking _god_. Will you just—nnnngh—”

His bulge manages what he, looking red-eared and badly restrained, evidently can’t make himself say. ( _Cute_.) It grips your fingers with astonishing strength.

“Okay,” you agree, running your free hand up and down the heavy musclechub of his flank to reassure him. “What do you want me to do?”

“Would you,” he mutters, fidgeting, claws picking at the wall, “—fuck, just. With your mouth. _Carefully_.”

You grin. Oh, wait, damn, you remember Rose saying something about toothy smiling— “You want me to suck your bulge?”

Now Karkat bares _his_ teeth at you. His are bigger. Sharper. “I _distinctly_ recall having a fucking conversation with you where I _said_ not to try to make me _beg_ , Egbert!”

The venom makes you draw back, frowning. That didn’t sound at all like his normal rancour, and you are right back in ‘potential bad touch, not sure if want’ territory. “I was just trying to make sure! I don’t want to do anything you don’t want, and since you didn’t even know what eating pussy was…”

As fast as the anger came, it goes. Karkat whines and covers his face with his hands, thumping his head back against the tiles. “Fuck. Sorry. I just. I fuck things up, John. I’m a fucker, it’s what I do. I’m the best fucker, it’s me.”

Your startled laugh echoes off the shower walls. You thought you’d heard the funniest stuff back during early negotiations when Grand Mediator Vantas was determined to master a vocabulary of English curses while still learning how to conjugate verbs, but apparently he’s still got a couple funny slip-ups left to make. Okay, that’s enough moping.

“Nope, that’s me,” you say, giving your handful of Karkat’s bulge a nice squeeze to get him back on track.

“Excuse _you_ , the title is clearly mine,” he retorts, removing his hands to glare up at you. “What are you doing?”

You finish playing with the control panel. The shower spray turns to hot mist as you slide down to your knees in front of him. Karkat’s eyes get big.

“Proving myself as a fucker,” you tease, holding his stare as you guide the curled length of his bulge to your mouth to smear a kiss across its slick scarlet coils.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says.

Okay, yes. You’ve got this. Your husband has a tentacle cock and you are going to suck it and he is going to stop looking like he wants to turn his savage vocabulary on himself. You are going to suck this alien dick so hard.

Both your boner and his sort of lost attention during the little distraction. Time to fix that.

“Better hang on,” you tell Karkat, starting to unwind the clingy length of his bulge from your fingers, and he instantly grabs your shoulders for support. Grinning, you close your fist tight around the base of his bulge at the same time as you grab your own cock, and give them both a good pull.

Next thing you know, you’re both howling in pain.

 

* * *

 

“I am so sorry,” Karkat says, yet again. “What the fuck were you thinking, you idiot? I have literally never in all my time on your stupid planet seen a human fuck up that _badly_ , and let me tell you, I’ve… _oh_ my god John I’m sorry. Fuck. How bad is it?”

You poke at the open wound on your shoulder again, ignoring the way it makes Karkat hiss between clenched teeth. The two of you are sitting on the spongy rubber floor of the shower, which is no longer running, draped in wet towels.

“Your claws are really sharp,” you marvel. The three slices in your left upper biceps aren’t knife-wound neat, but considering they were made by fingernails, you’re pretty impressed. “I think these two need stitches.”

Karkat utters something in snarling Alternian. A moment later, he springs out of the shower stall with his towel barely hanging on. You hear the sound of a cupboard door banging open, of boxes and bottles being thrown around inside.

Looking nearly frantic with anger and anxiety, Karkat reappears at the stall door with a suture kit in his hands. He thrusts it towards you, then... goes still, pauses, and hesitantly pulls it back to his own chest. He takes a deep breath, then a second one.

“Can I do it,” is what he finally says, the words coming out in a rush. His mouth is fixed in… determination? You almost want to say he’s bracing for rejection, but that’s dumb. What would you say: _no, Karkat, I wanna do my own stitches with one hand_?

“Of course,” you tell him, puzzled. You wave your right hand at him. “Here, help me up.”

Wide eyed, Karkat takes your hand. Bruiser that he is, he hauls you up easily, powerful biceps flexing.

He snaps and fusses alternately until you’re sitting on the bathroom counter with your left arm bleeding over the sink basin. Half of his words are in Alternian; the ones you do understand are general censures of you and himself and the universe.

“Karkat, it’s okay.”

“I told you I’d claw you,” he mutters, ripping open the pre-packaged needle and thread. “Hold still.”

“Spray that first,” you interrupt, before he can stab you with the needle.

Frowning, Karkat takes the bottle you pointed to and aims vaguely at the air by your face.

“On my _shoulder_!” you yelp. Analgesic spray isn’t something you want in your eyeballs.

Karkat sprays obediently, pumping the bottle until your wounds are dripping with white froth and you have to tell him to stop. The pain starts fading quickly, replaced by a thick numbness.

You poke the biggest cut experimentally, only for Karkat to swat your hand with a scowl. “That feels better.”

“Humans,” he says, in what sounds like disbelief.

Once he sets to work, he knows what he’s doing with a suture, at least. Karkat stitches carefully, painstakingly, teeth clamped on his lower lip and nostrils flared. Something about the expression on his face makes you stay quiet as he works. It’s like—like the way he looked at you when you walked in on him an hour ago and he was waiting naked in bed. Like he couldn’t stand to screw things up, not this time.

Finally, he clips the last thread on the second wound and straightens out of his concentrating hunch with a sigh. The pinched expression on his face only worsens when he takes in your bloody, sewn up shoulder, though 

“Sorry I yanked your dick,” you tell him, your voice too small.

That breaks his brooding, makes him bark out a laugh, the same rattling half-snarl noise that he makes when he’s boxing with the troll security guards from the Alternian Embassy and one of them lands a good punch on him. _Ha_ , like savage reluctant admiration. _Yes okay John I’ll laugh now you dumbass_. He flashes a bit of fang at you in that scary toothsmile Rose warned you about.

“It’s a _bulge_ , you pisswhiffer. I should have clawed your ugly face.”

“Nooo,” you protest, only half mocking. “Karkat, not my face. Facial surgeries suck. Last time Jane fixed my mouth I had to eat through a straw for a _week_.”

“What the fuck did you do to your face,” he says suspiciously, moving over to mop up blood on the counter with an already filthy towel. He cleans it pragmatically. Huh. Somehow you never pictured the Grand Mediator being so practiced at cleaning up blood, but… maybe you should have, considering all the scars that you can see littering his body, stripes and pocks of chalk white on slate skin. Only one mark healed over red—a big spreading burn on his back like he fell backwards into something _hot_ —and you think… that’s not the newest one, but it’s the worst, the one that hurt him so bad his skin couldn’t even grow back right.

“Crashed my hoverglider into a tree,” you say, using a sterile wipe to pat blood off your arm. The cloth swells with fluid until everything is dry and disinfected. A couple quick sealant gel strips take care of the third and smallest gash. “Some bad wind came up when I was looking for a couple of hikers up in the Rockies. My face would have healed up faster except it took me three days to get everybody back out of the mountains and things sort of—” You screw your face up illustratively— “started sticking together on their own. Jane had to do plastics. She wasn’t happy about that!”

“Ugh, is _that_ why you haven’t got a single damn mark on you? _Kkkh_. Humans.”

“Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

He sneers at you. “As if. You’re a hairy ape.”

Grinning, you slide off the counter and crowd him up against it. “C’mon, Karkat, tell me I’m beautiful. Isn’t my dick the biggest you’ve ever seen?”

Ooh, his ears are reddening again. Yes, good.

“You’re a hairy ape with a bulge that could put me in a four-wheel device for life. Fuck my life, what is it with me and freaks that get off on me insulting them? Stop _grinning_ , Egbert.”

“ _John_ ,” you insist, leaning in nose to nose with him.

Karkat sort of… stalls out for a moment, blinking dazedly up at you. When he inhales, the swells of his soft little boobs rise and fall and you can’t _help_ but notice. Both of you, you realize belatedly, are still mostly naked, damp from the shower.

But your arm is… not feeling so great, anymore. Even the excessive amount of spray Karkat put on is starting to wear off, leaving you with a dull throbbing ache that radiates through your whole shoulder.

Reluctantly, you ease back. Karkat draws another deep, shaky breath, blinking hard.

“You think we can manage cuddling without any more bloodshed?”

“We nothing. That was _not_ my goddamn fault. The fault was entirely yours, you fucker.” He grabs your hand—the hand of your right arm, very conscientiously—and drags you out of the bathroom. Karkat’s grip is so tight it nearly hurts. The way he holds your hand, both here and back when you were in bed, is like he wants it so badly but he thinks you’ll take it away if he doesn’t cling tight enough.

(Or maybe you’re just projecting. After all, you still have plenty of trouble with troll facial expressions; how are you supposed to know what the degree of strength in Karkat’s hand-holding really means? Maybe he’s just got a hard grip to go along with, you know, his massive muscles and assorted alien asskicking skills.)

You’re not so distracted that you can’t keep up the teasing. “I thought you were the best fucker.”

“No longer. I have been defeated by egregious bulge-mauling and my title has been stripped from me.”

“I told you I was the best one!”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “When I didn’t believe you, that wasn’t a sign to _prove_ it to me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You have to disentangle your hand from Karkat’s in order to start pulling clothes back on. Your flight suit is still in a heap at the food of the bed where you discarded it earlier, but you hardly want to put it back on now. Clean boxers and sweatpants are enough for snuggling.

All of Karkat’s clothes are in his own suite. Rather than go for them, he pulls on a pair of your sweatpants. On him they’re as tight as booty shorts. The elastic waistband digs into his chub, but instead of making Karkat look too big, it manages to accentuate the sheer metric fuckton of alien badassery packed onto his short frame. And despite the perky little boobs hanging out on his chest, he doesn’t bother with a shirt any more than you did. _Awesome_.

He catches you looking at his chest when he reaches back out for your hand. A scowl settles on his face.

“Quit making such a big deal about them,” he snaps, shoulders hunching, and turns back around to dig in the drawer… for a shirt.

“No no no!” Feeling guilty and gross for staring, you jump over there and wrap your arms around him from behind, pinning Karkat’s upper arms against his body. “That’s not what I meant! It’s okay if you don’t want to wear a shirt. I mean, I just—I wasn’t expecting it?”

Karkat snarls, but the shake of his shoulders barely shifts you. It’s far from the face-clawing he’s guaranteed you for overstepping. “At least I _have_ rumblespheres,” he grumbles. “Jealous much?”

“Not… really,” you have to admit. “But they look really good on you. I like them.”

“How nice for you,” he snipes. “It’s so important to me that you like _my_ body parts. I just live to indulge your fascination with my fleshy mortal husk. Get _off_.”

You nuzzle your chin into the wet hair between his horns and wrap your arms tighter around him, enjoying the warm squish. “Mmmf. I’m snuggling.”

“Snuggle on the _couch_ , douchewipe.”

Karkat breaks free of your embrace easily—ha! You knew he could, if he wanted—and heads out into the living room. The only thing he does with the shirt still in his hand is rub his shower-damp hair a little drier and then toss it back onto the floor behind him as he leaves the bedroom.

Pleased, you follow him out. Unlike when you and Karkat attempt sex, which has been spectacularly hit or miss so far, you two are pretty good at cuddling.

 

* * *

 

The TV makes for a nice bit of background noise as you cuddle. Okay, you might be dozing a little bit. Possibly. But you're lying full length and face down on top of Karkat with your head between his soft little spheres and his claws in your hair, tracing the most delicate skritches across your scalp. Through his chest you can hear an alien heartbeat, air whooshing in and out of his lungs, and something articulately organic clicking for a few breaths every so often. He's a compact little nugget of delicious body heat, not to mention the perfect pillowy combination of firmsoft. It would be impossible not to drift off.

When you feel Karkat squirm the first time, you assume it's just an adjustment of position and only hum contentedly. He gives a whistly sigh and cups the back of your skull momentarily. Alien language barriers or not, your brain parses that as matching contentedness.

The next time Karkat's thigh shifts against your side, you sleepily stroke his side. He's not ticklish, per se, but you've discovered that touching certain parts of his body—the tenderest ones without chitin-hard backing beneath the skin—make him either tense or tremble, depending on how prepared for the touch he is. His belly is a guaranteed good times spot.

Your brain finally clicks back on, though, when Karkat shifts his hips beneath you yet again. You resettle yourself in response and Karkat utters a low, strangled groan.

You pick up your head to look at him. He's got his head back against the arm of the couch, staring fixedly up at the ceiling, and he's biting his lip _hard_.

“Karkat? You okay?”

“Mmph,” he says.

Well, if he's not going to talk... You do the mean thing and squirm pointedly on top of him again.

Immediately Karkat grabs your shoulders, groaning even more loudly. “ _Zhann_ ,” he growls, which is how you _really_ know he's under pressure. You haven't heard him say your name often, but he only starts mangling consonants when he's stressed.

“What?” you ask innocently.

“I need to go,” he croaks. “Get off.”

The second you shift upward just _slightly_ , you feel the sudden slick rush of bulge unsheathing against your bare stomach. Karkat stiffens and tries to curl up in a ball, the reflex prevented by your weight on him. Throat and ears flushing red, he whines in what you think is embarrassment.

For just a split second, you see the future branching into two paths: the one where you yelp and scramble off him, stuttering apologies and scalded by the sudden obscenity that it turns out you were _not_ ready for, and the one where you are the smoothest motherfucking sexbeast a troll could ever want for a human husband. It takes all your years of professional training in how to retain control under pressure, but you manage to take the second path.

“Ohhh, I get it,” you say—okay, fine, your dirty talk needs work—and slide a hand beneath your belly. Two inches of Karkat's bulge have squirmed past the waistband of his sweatpants, which are starting to soak through pink. You curl your fingers around Karkat's bulge and squeeze gently, rewarded by a rattling gasp and an urgent writhe of tentacle in his pants. That's all it takes for Karkat to groan savagely and start writhing beneath you with abandon.

Hardly daring to breathe, you squeeze and massage the lengthening bulge until your stomach is a sloppy, gooey mess. Karkat ruts his hips up against you in grinding circles, head flung back against the arm of the couch, the muscles in his arms corded as he clenches his fists to keep from digging his claws into anything. Even flat on his back, he's strong enough to lift you partially off the couch with every slippery thrust of his hips.

“John,” he gasps. “ _Zhann_.”

You are a _god_. Stitches? What stitches?

“Shower,” you urge, slithering up Karkat's body to drop quick, sucking kisses on his throat. He makes a noise like he's dying. “You want my mouth? C'mon, you want—”

Karkat sits bolt upright, making you smack your teeth into his collarbone, but he's grabbing big handfuls of your ass, flat-palmed to keep his claws clear, and everything about that is _so_ good. The next thing you know, you're being lifted into the air as Karkat heaves himself off the couch. You wrap your legs around his broad waist reflexively.

“Karkat, oh my god, Karkat—” Yelping laughter, you grab him by the back of the neck and a horn, getting your goo-slippy hands all over him.

Karkat rattles something in the vicinity of your left nipple as he marches unsteadily toward the bathroom. You can feel his bulge writhing against your ass as if, without your sweatpants in the way, it would fuck its way right into you then and there, impale you deep without even needing the bounce of Karkat's gait to work you down onto that slick, writhing tendril. This is hot hot hot and fucking _ridiculous_. You are a full foot taller than Karkat; you must be hanging off of him like a gorilla up a Christmas tree—and oh god, he can't see where he's going, can he— _no_ , because you have to duck and grab the sides of the bathroom doorway to keep him from slamming you into them as he stumbles through the door. But Karkat keeps right on marching until your back smacks into the shower tile, and then he pins you up against the wall, grinding with his full body as his teeth scrape and his breath rasps hotly against your chest.

Abruptly Karkat drops you. The only thing that keeps your knees from buckling is his bulk pressing you back into the slick tile. When Karkat takes one deliberate step back, you let yourself keep sliding down, every muscle shaky and excited, until you're looking up at him from your knees.

Karkat's bulge swipes clumsily across your chin. Gasping a sharp breath, he gets a handful of your hair and tugs your head back away from it. Your own noise of surprised arousal makes his fist tighten in your hair. Then he loosens his grip and pets you gently, so gently.

“You want my mouth?” you ask again, low voiced.

Karkat slides his hand around your jaw in a caress until he can press the pad of his thumb against your lower lip. You let your mouth fall open a little, and slick your lip and the polished back of his claw with the tip of your tongue. No teeth. His pupils are huge, blown black.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yes. Zhann. _Please_.”

His bulge lashes excitedly when you tug his sweatpants down. Bright red slick is smeared all around his dilated sheath. Your brain wants to say _blood_ , but the way it dribbles out of Karkat's sheath when he shivers and his sheath clenches momentarily around the thick base of his bulge is painfully obscene. Your eyes follow a trail of wet scarlet down Karkat's inner thigh and almost to his knee, which is why you're looking down to see Karkat step clumsily out of his pants and grabs them with his _toes_ , wow. His long curling hook-clawed toes are dextrous enough to lift and toss the pants out of the way so he doesn't trip and break something.

The bulge curling against the underside of your jaw is what lifts your head again. Above you, Karkat is quiet—biting his lip again.

You wrap the fingers of both hands around his bulge and this time you are so, so careful. You tangle most of the length up in your hands, squeezing rhythmically until Karkat groans deep in his throat. Open-mouthed, you lick along the thinnest part of the bulge you can find—and then suddenly there's the tip, squirming into your mouth.

A violent shudder of arousal goes down your spine. You moan loudly, letting the tip of Karkat's bulge lash across your tongue. Oh god. Oh fuck. This is your kink. Tentacles are definitely a thing.

His bulge seeps fluid so quickly that it's starting to drool out of your mouth already. Salty, warm—nothing offensive. Smells like sex. Reflexively, you slurp back the spillage and close your lips around Karkat's bulge, trying to control its writhing. And yes, scientists extensively confirmed that there was no risk of cross-species poisoning or infection or _anything_ between humans and trolls way, way before marriage was ever being considered, so you barely hesitate to swallow and suck hard.

It's nothing like sucking cock, except for how Karkat is gasping and his hands are tremulously cradling your head. He wants to urge you harder but he's afraid to hurt you. Spurred by that considerate self-control as much as by your own arousal, you let more of Karkat's bulge into your mouth, working your tongue.

You try to bob your head back and forth, but his bulge wants none of that. The moment it starts leaving your mouth, the writhing redoubles and it coils up tightly between your lips. (Is _that_ how trolls fit that much goddamn bulge into their partners? Does it always twist up inside the nook?) Your startled laugh comes out as a wet cough and a dribble of slurry. It runs down your chest. Karkat's bulge coils around your tongue like the most obscene kiss you've ever had. You gurgle and suck sloppily. Above you, Karkat rattles like a rusty engine and slams one fist into the tiled wall.

What the fuck are you even doing? Doesn't matter. Hot. Hot. _Hot_.

A tickle at the back of your throat makes you cough for real. It's—it's his bulge, trying to— _fuck_. Your cock has just enough time to jump with blinding arousal before your gag reflex kicks in. Choking, you lean back and use your hands to pull Karkat's bulge out of your mouth.

“Zha—John? John, oh fuck. I—fuck, are you—”

“I'm fine,” you gasp, blinking wetly. You have to lift a wrist to wipe your eyes. Karkat's hands flutter anxiously about your face. “Karkat, I'm fine. It's okay. I just—surprised.” Trying to ensure that he can't possibly mistake your choke for real reluctance, you slobber all over his coiling bulge again. It drips onto the shower floor—onto your knees, your thighs, your cock standing almost upright against your belly. “C'mon. C'mere. Let me...”

You slide one hand up the length of his bulge, almost to the tip, so that you can better control it. With the filthy idea pulsing at the forefront of your brain, burning out all rational thought, you feed the tip of his bulge back into your mouth and suckle until slurry leaks out the corners of your lips.

Karkat whimpers and pets your hair back. You look up at him with what you hope is reassurance as much as sexiness.

You let Karkat's bulge work its way into your mouth until it's pressing at the back of your throat again. This time, better prepared for the tickle, you quickly push in another two inches and swallow it down.

Slender, flexible—it goes down far easier than the thick blunt head of a cock trying to force your throat open. The only problem is that the way his bulge writhes makes it almost impossible to control your gag reflex, or the bulge itself. Another inch or two of slippery bulge coils down your throat before you tighten your fist enough to stop it. Trying desperately not to pull back, you choke several times around the tendril before you regain control.

“ _Tsset_ , Zhann, Zhann, _ashkk ahn kshev skkrt l'mase vek_ —”

You moan around Karkat's bulge, sliding your lips another scant finger's width down. The first of his bulge's ribs presses against your lower lip. Fighting not to gag again, you manage to stick out your tongue to lick it. You can feel tears bead out of your squinched eyes and run down your cheeks to join the slurry dripping from your chin. Just hope Karkat doesn't think you're—crying because— _fuck—_

Coughing hard, you pull off his bulge and spit until you can get a breath. Agonizingly conscious of the way Karkat's thighs are shaking and his fingers are twisting in your hair, the way he's still babbling in Alternian, you take his bulge back into your mouth as soon as you can. It's graceless, sloppy, filthy fucking wet and you're shameless about every moment of it all, grunting with the effort it takes to get his bulge down your throat again. Every sucking, slobbery noise echoes off the shower tiles.

Karkat shifts his position suddenly, his hips jerking forward for one moment of broken control. You choke and squint your eyes open to see him bracing one arm against the shower wall. His other hand is pressing into the soft swell of his belly right above his stretched sheath. You pump your fist around the base of his bulge and Karkat pushes _hard_ on his belly and he cries out and—

Slurry floods down your throat. It's too much, too sudden, and you have to jerk back from Karkat's curling bulge. It slides out of your mouth with an obscene noise and a gush of slurry. Gasping for breath, it's all you can do to stroke Karkat's contorting bulge as it pulses scarlet fluid all over you and him. Karkat is shouting, noisy as ever, his face scrunched up, teeth bared, forehead sweaty. Falling apart.

In the aftermath, Karkat's knees are visibly trembling. You move your hands from his limp, weakly twitching bulge to his slurry-drenched thighs. There's still fluid dripping thick and slick down your chin.

Groaning, Karkat lets his knees buckle and collapses into your lap. There's a moment of pain, of twisted joints and uncomfortable angles before everything gets adjusted and he can sprawl on top of you with his face buried against your neck. When you peek down at the weird sensation against your stomach, you can see Karkat's spent bulge slowly retracting into its sheath, now small and getting smaller.

Exhausted, you let your head thump back against the shower wall. Goodbye for now, Karkat's bulge, your new favourite thing in the world. Until next time.

“Fuck,” Karkat whimpers, the first thing in a long time you've been able to understand. His hands are clumsily clutching and petting at your hair again. He's shaking. You grab his wrists to steady him.

Karkat lifts his head to look you in the eye. He looks so _fucked out_ : slack-mouthed, eyes unfocused, sweaty and dishevelled and entirely in disbelieving awe. “John. Fuck. Fucking... _John_.”

“Pretty much,” you mumble.

For all that you're hard as hell, your orgasm is a much less dramatic affair. You squirm out of your stained sweatpants and kick them into the corner of the shower. You reach up to fumble on the shower, and you and Karkat cuddle in the hot mist until Karkat muzzily realizes that your boner is poking him in the stomach. He hesitates to touch it—with fair reason, given the fresh stitches in your left shoulder—until you wrap a hand around it. Then he closes his fist around yours, claws carefully held clear, and lets you nuzzle into his neck as you jerk off. When you shudder and spurt cum over his knuckles, Karkat lets out a high moan. You are pretty sure that's the signal for this memory being filed away forever in his spank bank. Good, because your own stockpile of things to jerk off to just got a whole long bigger today.

“You wanna go back to the couch?” you ask, when you've been curled up under the shower for long enough that all the cum and slurry is gone.

Karkat tips his head and presses his lips gingerly to your throat. “Bed,” he says, low and almost entirely without gravel. Then, before you can get _too_ disappointed, he adds, “Yours. I'll get sopor patches.”

That... that would be the first time you've ever slept in the same room as Karkat, let alone in the same bed. That's...

Holy crap. It's been five months since your wedding, and now you're finally going to share a marriage bed. You just _consummated_ your marriage. By some standards, you're pretty sure that means you and Karkat technically _just_ tied the knot.

“Carry me?” you ask, snickering a little. Karkat looks baffled until you explain the whole thing about carrying the bride over the threshold. But then he _does_ , the big sap—he picks you up and carries you right into bed, tumbling on top of you into the tangle of blankets and sheets that still smell like sex from earlier. He does, and he kisses your throat so so gently, all lips and no teeth at all.

If this is the way your marriage starts, it's a good way to go.


End file.
